I Don't Want To Talk Grammar. I

Your Wits Can't Thicken In That Soft Moist Air, On Those White Springy Roads, In Those Misty Rushes And Brown Bogs, On Those Hillsides Of Granite Rocks And Magenta Heather. You've No Such Colours In The Sky, No Such Lure In The Distances, No Such Sadness In The Evenings. Oh The Dreaming! The Dreaming! The Torturing, Heart-scalding, Never Satisfying Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming!

Any Sort Of Plain Speaking Is Better Than The Nauseous Sham Good Fellowship Our Democratic Public Men Get Up For Shop Use.

Reason Enslaves All Whose Minds Are Not Strong Enough To Master Her.

There Is Nothing On Earth More Exquisite Than A Bonny Book, With Well-placed Columns Of Rich Black Writing In Beautiful Borders, And Illuminated Pictures Cunningly Inset. But Nowadays, Instead Of Looking At Books, People Read Them. A Book Might As Well Be One Of Those Orders For Bacon And Bran.

Put An Irishman On The Spit And You Can Always Get Another Irishman To Turn Him.